Be My Coach, Yuuri!
by DelinquentPolarBear
Summary: Yuuri is upset and Kenjirou tries to help.
1. Chapter 1

"Ah, Katsuki-senpai?" Kenjirou timidly speaks up. The older man slowly turns around, stiff as a board and eyes hollow.

"Y-yes, Minami-san. Is there something I could help you with?" he asks, staring somewhere over Kenjirou's shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Yuuri looks down, bitter smile flitting across his lips even as his arms come up to cross his chest. "Am I that obvious?" He snorts, muttering, "Though I suppose I could never be described as 'subtle', anyway. Thank you for your concern, Minami-san, I'm just having a rough night. I should get back." Yuuri bows and begins to turn toward the elevators.

Torn with indecision, Kenjirou clenches his fist to his chest as he watches his idol walk away with stooped shoulders, looking so much smaller than the proud, confident man he is (has always been, in Kenjirou's mind). Acting on pure instinct, he shouts out, "Wait!"

Amazingly, Yuuri actually pauses and looks back to the flustered skater. "Minami-san?"

Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Kenjirou replies, "Let's go for food! My treat!"

After a beat of dead silence, during which Kenjirou nearly faints and refuses to make eye-contact, Yuuri looks consideringly to the gleaming elevators looming before him and comes to a decision. "Okay."

"R-really, senpai?" Kenjirou begins to beam, pleased and awed that Yuuri actually agreed. "What would you like? There's a lot of different food places around here." They walk to the front of the hotel, but pause once they're outside.

"Hm, katsudon would be nice. But perhaps pancakes would be more common, ne?" Yuuri teases, unable to stay gloomy with such a sunny, happy face beside him. "Oh, and you don't have to pay, Minami-san. You should be saving."

"You can call me Kenjirou, Katsuki-senpai! And I am! Just," he ducks his head a bit, flushing, "um, maybe a little less than I should be." Hearing Yuuri's quiet chuckle is enough to soothe his embarrassment and he quickly recovers.

"Then call me Yuuri, Kenjirou-kun." Yuuri hums, turning left and beginning a brisk pace to where ever he has in mind. He's saying something about the weather and how warm food is always best in winter, not noticing Kenjirou's bright blush and occasional fumbles while he tries to keep up.

Peeking over at Yuuri, he rapidly replays his name falling from his idol's mouth. Ever since Yuuri first acknowledged him during a competition three years ago (slapping his butt! Cheering for him, even!) Kenjirou had been hoping to get to know the older skater. However, circumstances conspired against them. Yuuri spent much of his time training in Russia with Nikiforov and Plisetsky. This is the first season since his retirement, and he had immediately become a sort of co-coach to Plisetsky with Nikiforov, who has been retired for two seasons now.

Kenjirou is definitely not envious of that. Not at all. (He's so bitter his coach has called him Espresso on occasion. Which he resents, as he much prefers caramel frappes with extra whip, thanks.)

But now, it's just Katsuki Yuuri and him, getting pancakes at 9:00 pm in Canada. (He's going to faint.)

Kenjirou jolts back into the present at Yuuri's gentle nudge. He hadn't even noticed that they stopped. They're at some diner with neon lights in the window and the glow casts shadows on Yuuri's kind smile and soft features. Kenjirou is hit with a sudden urge to touch, even swaying toward the older man, and whips out his phone to cover it. "Selfie!" he practically yells, leaning into Yuuri's side.

The picture comes out a little blurry but Yuuri's bewildered face is clear enough for Kenjirou to burst out laughing. Sheepishly, Yuuri says, "With my best friend being Phichit, I should be more used to that sort of thing." He laughs along and agrees to taking a better one for Kenjirou to post to Instagram.

Kenjirou maybe saves the original anyway. For reasons.

Once inside, they're quickly ushered into a small booth and given menus. The menus are tall enough to hide Kenjirou's head and he gives in to his desire to cover his face with his hand. He's such an idiot! Yuuri-senpai is married! To a five time champion figure skater! A tall, well groomed, exciting-if-eccentric Russian man! Rich and older and everything! Kenjirou is 165 cm, barely getting on the podium (if at all), seven years younger, and scraping his way through college. No competition at all.

"Uh, Kenjirou-kun? Are you alright?" Yuuri asks worriedly.

"I'm fine, Yuuri-senpai! Just fine!" Kenjirou says nervously, slapping the menu down to look at the other man. "Why?"

"You hit your head… on the table. Are you sure?"

That explains the sudden sting in his forehead, Kenjirou thought, rubbing the red mark. Laughing it off, Kenjirou assures Yuuri he's okay. Thankfully the waitress comes along to take their order before he can embarrass himself further. They both get hot tea to warm their hands and Kenjirou just orders the same thing as Yuuri, seeing as he was too preoccupied to actually look at the menu.

Idly chatting for while, Kenjirou is happy to see that Yuuri is looking less sad. He debates with himself if he should bring it up or not when their pancakes arrive. Seeing those cinnamon colored eyes light up seals his decision to wait until the trip back to the hotel.

After splitting the bill, though Kenjirou insisted on paying the tip, and readying for the cold, they head out side by side. The pace is much slower than before and there's a lack of cars and people that adds a feeling of isolation. Neither say anything, enjoying the quiet after the loud events they attended earlier.

Halfway there, Kenjirou clears his throat, slowing their walk even more. "Ah, so, back at the hotel…"

Yuuri's steps falter before stopping completely. Catching the dark look on his face, Kenjirou quickly backpedals. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it! I was just worried, you seemed really upset and you're great so you shouldn't ever feel upset if there's anyway around it and you were by yourself, which is really rare, and I've looked up to you for a long time and if you need to talk about it, I'm here for you but if you just want to walk around for a bit longer that's cool, too…!"

Yuuri giggles wetly, taking off his glasses to wipe at his face. Kenjirou reaches out and hugs Yuuri before he can stop himself. It's an awkward angle; Yuuri's arm is half raised, clutching his glasses, and Kenjirou has basically attached himself to his side, but it works. Yuuri is stiff for a moment, then grasps at Kenjirou's arm with his unoccupied hand, leaning into the younger man and choking out sobs.

Eventually, they stumble to a bench, Yuuri never quite letting go of Kenjirou and Kenjirou never attempting to make him. Yuuri goes quiet, his trembles ebbing away and his grasp loosening. Now he just sags against Kenjirou, exhausted.

For his part, Kenjirou is frantically trying to think of something to say to remedy this situation. He never meant to make Yuuri cry! He settles for hesitantly rubbing Yuuri's back and waiting.

Sniffling, Yuuri scrubs his face, leaning back. "I'm sorry, Kenjirou-kun. This is unfair to you. You should go back. You have to sleep for your routine tomorrow."

"No! I'm fine, Yuuri-senpai! I couldn't leave you like this!"

"Ken—"

"No!" Kenjirou says more forcefully, cutting him off. "I'm fine." Softening his tone, he says, "Please tell me: what happened?"

Sighing, Yuuri hangs his head. "I… I think Victor wants to leave."

Shocked and more than a little confused, Kenjirou asks, "What? The country?"

"Me. I think he wants to leave me. Or… at least, he's been saying things about me leaving." Yuuri looks at his feet, brow furrowed. "Yurio is being, well, Yurio, which isn't really helpful to me. I was trying to help him today and he actually seemed genuinely angry at me for it."

"Plisetsky is _not_ angry most of the time?" Kenjirou asks, stunned.

It gets a laugh out of Yuuri, loud in the stillness of the night. "Well, he's very quick to yell, sure, but that's more lack of patience than anything else. But," Yuuri murmurs, sobering, "his true anger is another thing entirely."

Watching Yuuri's face slide back toward the desolation that he was showing before, Kenjirou whispers, "Did he say something?"

"Yurio can be, ah, cruel when it strikes him. If you matter to him, he'll apologize, but it certainly can leave a mark." Yuuri rubs the back of his neck, thinking back to a bathroom confrontation years ago. "Perhaps I should go back to Japan, for a while. Allow them to have a season or two together."

Trying to push down the hope rising in his chest, Kenjirou firmly reminds himself that Yuuri wouldn't be going back for good reasons and would be unhappy. That in mind, Kenjirou vigorously shakes his head. "No! You should talk to them about it! I'm sure they don't mean what you think they do, Yuuri-senpai. Plisetsky is probably just mad 'cause I'm catching up to him and took it out on you. And maybe Nikiforov is talking about you visiting your family or something? I haven't heard anything about you going to Hasetsu in awhile," he says, before squeaking and waving his hands around. "Not that I look you up a lot or anything!"

Yuuri doesn't acknowledge his slip, mulling over the possibilities he presented instead. "I suppose it has been a few months since I last visited. Training Yurio is a year long job, even with Victor, especially considering how hard he works. Sometimes it feels like he's training us, the way he barges into our room in the morning," Yuuri sighs resignedly. "And I may be feeling more stiff than I used to be." He chuckles, glancing over to Kenjirou. "I sound like an old man, don't I? Complaining about my joints and early mornings."

Kenjirou makes a protesting noise, saying, "You're only 27! And skating is very wearing on our bodies; of course you feel like that if you don't take any breaks!"

"I know, I know," Yuuri placates, patting Kenjirou's hand. "Doesn't make it any easier to accept sometimes."

Not knowing what to say to that, Kenjirou blushes down at their hands. Yuuri is still contemplative and staring into the distance, so silence swells. It's not awkward, thankfully, so Kenjirou relaxes into it.

They stay sitting and sharing warmth in the cool night for a little longer, neither quite ready to get up. Kenjirou cracks first, yawning loudly and rubbing his eye.

"Oh! I'm so sorry Kenjirou-kun! You need to sleep," Yuuri gushes, pulling the younger man up and nearly dragging him toward the hotel. Kenjirou doesn't protest, thinking about his warm bed and all he needs to do in the morning.

—

When they get back, they head toward the elevators, which look much more welcoming now. "Which floor, Kenjirou-kun?" Yuuri asks.

A spike of adrenaline hits Kenjirou and he's suddenly very nervous. "T-the fourth." Yuuri hums and presses the button. He doesn't talk, merely watching the electric numbers steadily climb. Kenjirou's face feels like it's on fire and he hopes it doesn't look it. He has had way too many fantasies that start out like this to be able to control his blush.

The ding announcing their arrival seems terribly loud and Kenjirou flinches slightly. He makes to get off and nearly stops completely when he hears Yuuri starting to follow him. Yuuri must sense his question and says, "I'll walk you to your door. It's my fault you're out this late, it's the least I can do."

"O-okay," Kenjirou nods shakily. Somehow, he leads Yuuri to his door without tripping on anything (like thin air). His hands are trembling and he feels sweat building on his neck when they get there. "This is me," Kenjirou says, laughing a bit then immediately berating himself for being so damn awkward. He's staring at the ground and sees Yuuri's boots come closer, until they're only a few inches apart. Kenjirou freezes, eyes wide.

Yuuri leans down, softly kissing Kenjirou's forehead. "Thank you, Kenjirou-kun. You're very kind to this old man."

Just as he starts to leave, Kenjirou grabs Yuuri's hands and blurts, "Please coach me!"

Yuuri blinks in surprise, staring at Kenjirou.

"I promise to work hard, and be the best student you could ever ask for! No, the best student you could dream of! I'll win gold for you and Japan! I'll beat everyone, including Plisetsky!" Clenching his hands tighter and putting all his determination into his voice, Kenjirou shouts one last "Please!" before closing his eyes and hoping.

"Ah, Kenjirou-kun… I can't feel my fingers."

He drops Yuuri's hands like they were on fire. Shame and embarrassment burns hotly on his cheeks and, even worse, he feels tears build in his eyes. Stupid! Of course Yuuri wouldn't leave Nikiforov and Plisetsky to train him. What a stupid notion, especially not in the middle of—

"Okay."

— the first season since he's retired, how could… What?

"What?" Kenjirou asks incredulously, whipping his head up. Yuuri is smiling at him, not at all disgusted or appalled at Kenjirou's abrupt request.

"I will coach you." He leans in conspiratorially. "I definitely think you'll be able to win, especially since I know Yurio's weaknesses."

Kenjirou's face nearly splits in half from happiness. He gives Yuuri a tight squeeze, burying his face in the puffy jacket and yelling. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Yuuri-senpai!" Pulling back, he beams and promises, "You won't regret this! I'll make you proud!"

"I know you will, Kenjirou-kun," Yuuri replies. "Though, we should probably wait until this season is over, yes?"

—

Much later, after exchanging numbers and plans to talk after the competition is over, Kenjirou is tucked into his bed on the verge of sleep. His eyes snap open and he sits up rigidly, mouth open in horrified realization.

"I have a crush on my new coach. I have to wear _spandex_ while Yuuri-senpai teaches me. Oh, no." He flops back and screams into his pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: ahhhhhh _hhhhhhh_ im sorry i forgot to put this up here so heres a mild resolution ooooppsssss

* * *

Staring blankly at the door that had just been slammed in his face, Victor mentally recalculates just how long this whole thing is going to take to get cleared up. Yurio's pouting, Yuuri is… somewhere, and Victor can't even find the energy to be upset. It's been a challenging few weeks. _Coaching Yuuri was never this stressful_ , he thinks mirthlessly, walking back to the room he shares with his husband. Victor grimaces, remembering that Yakov dealt with him, Yurio, Mila, and _Georgi_ at the same time. He suddenly wants to apologize, and possibly grovel a little. Victor flicks out his phone and makes a note to himself about getting something the old man would like, instead. A random Amazon gift isn't the strangest thing Victor has sent Yakov.

Of course, that's when he'd bump into someone else. Victor hurriedly grabs at the other person to help them stay up, heartfelt "sorry" at the tip of his tongue, only to blink in surprise at Yuuri. He looks like he'd been crying.

"Yuuri? Are you okay?" Victor asks worriedly, squeezing Yuuri's shoulders and looking him over for anything obviously wrong. A soft touch on his hand leads Victor's attention back up to his husband's face. Now Victor is even more confused; Yuuri seems oddly determined, for some reason. "If you're going to try and talk to Yura, he's not in the best of—"

"I'm going back to Japan," Yuuri cuts in abruptly, "and I'm going to train Minami Kenjirou when this season is over." He draws himself up defiantly, looking for all the world like a confident penguin in his puffy black jacket despite the death grip Yuuri keeps on Victor's hand.

Victor freezes, jaw going slack. What?

"What?" Victor chokes out.

Biting his lip, Yuuri looks intently into Victor's eyes. He suddenly can't bring himself to say the words again, instead holding tighter onto the hands in his. It's quiet in the hallway, and Yuuri realizes, rather belatedly, that this is a terrible place and way to do this; anyone could walk out of their room and see. Worse, someone could purposefully listen in. The media is all too eager to get a scandal, even in the world of skating.

Victor, on the other hand, is still unable to move past how much that had sounded like "I need a break from you."

Though very few and far between, Victor's lovers all tended to eventually say that. _Too much, too clingy_ , they'd say, or if not that, then, _too busy, never home, always tired_. Sometimes both. No relationship had lasted longer than a month or two. It aches to hear the same tone from the man he's loved for four years.

Raising his hand, _their_ entwined hands, to gently cup Yuuri's cheek, Victor breathes deeply. His wedding ring is a comforting weight, warm metal stiff against soft skin. This isn't the same. It _can't_ be.

Victor clears his throat, saying, "Let's get to our room. We obviously need to talk."

Yuuri nods, releasing one hand to root around for their key. Walking into the hotel room while mutually refusing to let go of each other helps to settle both of them. A sign that, if nothing else, neither _wants_ to let go.

Victor sits heavily on the bed, dragging Yuuri with him. Yuuri stares at the sleek black flat screen perched on the wall opposite of them, furiously thinking of how he can salvage the situation. He can see Victor's vague, blurry reflection looking down at their joined hands, rings gleaming even in the soft artificial lighting of the room.

Slowly, Victor leans into Yuuri's shoulder and whispers, "I love you, Yuuri." The younger man turns his head, blinking at the non sequitur. Before he can respond in kind, Victor continues. "I think you should do it."

Yuuri's breath catches in his throat. While he's glad they're not fighting, he's a little disappointed that Victor didn't protest at all. _Am I really that unneeded? Have I really wasted a year of my life doing_ _ **nothing**_ _helpful?_ Yuuri asks himself, pushing back tears.

Jerking his head up, Victor panics at seeing Yuuri's pre-crying face. He climbs into his husband's lap, tenderly grasping Yuuri's face and tilting it up. "Shh, no, please don't cry, Yuuri," Victor soothes, wiping at the corner of Yuuri's eyes. Helplessly, he asks, "I thought you would want me to be supportive?"

"I do," Yuuri says. "I just… didn't think it'd be so easy."

Furrowing his brows, Victor catches the bitterness in Yuuri's voice. "Yuuri, _believe me_ ," he says, willing his voice to portray how sincere he is, "I do not want to see you go. Having you beside me, waking up to you in the mornings, seeing your smile when Makkachin does something silly— I have never been happier than I have been in the last four years. Being married to you is better than anything I had ever dreamed of." Victor sighs. "But, you are your own person, not my personal toy. Honestly, I was surprised when you agreed to coach Yurio with me. I thought you would have liked to stay with your family after so long away."

"How could I leave my husband with that grouch of a boy, hm?" Yuuri asks, smiling through tears he's given up on trying to keep back. He rests his hands on Victor's hips. Victor grins back, dropping a kiss on Yuuri's lips.

"Now," Victor says, "can we talk about what actually lead you to this?" Instantly, the tentative good mood scatters to the four winds. With a frown, Victor takes in Yuuri's averted eyes and flushed cheeks and decides to let it go. "Tomorrow, then?" he asks gently. Yuuri nods gratefully, kissing Victor's chin. "Oh come on, Yuuri, that's no way to say thank you," Victor scolds mischievously, "I just successfully avoided our divorce."

Yuuri rolls his eyes, replying monotonously, "Oh, how will I ever repay the debt I owe?"

Victor hums, tapping his finger to his cheek thoughtfully. "I can think of something, I'm sure." He grins, tugging on the winter coat Yuuri is still wearing. "It will probably involve this coming off, though."

Chuckling, Yuuri flushes even as he says, "I can do that."


End file.
